Trouble In Paradise
by shirayuki55
Summary: AU Rukia Kuchiki and Ichigo Kurosaki jet off to an island paradise to uncover the source of Rukia's crippling nightmares and find themselves embroiled in a sinister plot involving the Kuchiki family that goes back twenty years. Find full summary inside.
1. Chapter 1

AN

Hello everyone! So nice to see you all again in another story! I honestly thought I was done with this site, but I guess not. I hope you all enjoy this new story as much as you've enjoyed my previous ones. The usual warnings apply: Though it's set in Japan, some American stuff might be slipped in here and there. I apologize for any out of character moments or clichés. Okay, so here we go!

Disclaimer-I own ABSOLUTELY NOTHING! I couldn't be any clearer about that.

Trouble In Paradise

Summary - As far as authoress Rukia Kuchiki was concerned, she and the mysterious Ichigo Kurosaki had the perfect relationship. They were good friends. Rukia needed someone who wasn't demanding and Ichigo needed someone who wouldn't ask questions when he disappeared for weeks at a time. It worked, until... Rukia and Ichigo jet off to an island paradise to uncover the source of Rukia's crippling nightmares and find themselves embroiled in a sinister plot involving the Kuchiki family that goes back twenty years.

Chapter 1

He had no right to make the phone call and he knew it. But he had dialed the number, so it was too late to hang up, even if he managed to convince himself he should. She was supposed to be a friend and tonight he needed a friend. With a grim concentration necessitated by the pain pills he had been gulping for the past several hours, Ichigo leaned his head against the gleaming payphone, closed his eyes and listened to the ringing on the other end of the line. He couldn't remember feeling this bad before in his life. He hurt, he was exhausted and his mind wasn't functioning anywhere near its normal level of awareness. Everything around him seemed to be annoying. He couldn't tune out the inconsequential. The constant background noise of the Tokyo airport terminal was grating against all his senses. He couldn't seem to think straight because of the way the silly chatter of travelers, the roar of engines and the smell of hot dogs and fuel was sinking into his nervous system. Ichigo knew the pain pills probably amplified the uncomfortable effect, but the knowledge didn't help. He tried to concentrate more intently on listening to the phone-one ring, two rings, three. Maybe she wasn't home. Christ, for all he knew, she was with another man. Not tonight, he thought as he gripped the receiver a little more tightly in an effort to steady himself.

Don't let there be anyone else there tonight. He sought reassurance by reminding himself that Rukia hadn't seemed interested in any other man during the months Ichigo had known her. Not that she was all that interested in him, Ichigo told himself wryly-except, of course, as a friend. He found himself praying she hadn't turned up any other friends during the few weeks he had been gone. She answered the phone in the middle of the fourth ring. Ichigo felt relief wash through him with a more comforting effect than his little white pills had had. He wondered why he had been so worried. Rukia was always at home at night. Lately, when he was on assignment, Ichigo had found himself taking an obscure kind of comfort in that knowledge. He could close his eyes at any time and picture her sitting home alone in the evenings, perhaps curled up on the old couch in her front room with an album from her collection of early rock music on the stereo.

"Rukia? It's Ichigo."

"Ichigo! Good grief, it's almost midnight. Where are you? Are you home?"

He heard the bright welcome in her throaty, melodic voice. Sometimes Ichigo thought it was Rukia's voice he started thinking about first when he was headed home. He lifted his lashes with an effort and found himself eyeball-to-eyeball with the reassuring symbol of AT&T. Some things, at least, were constant in the universe-Rukia's voice and AT&T.

"I'm in Tokyo. My plane gets into Karakura in an hour and a half."

His fingers tightened on the receiver.

"Rukia, I hate to ask, but can you meet me?"

"Meet you?"

Maybe she was with another man there. Ichigo shook off the sudden, tight anger that materialized out of nowhere.

The pain pills again, he told himself. He had no right allowing himself to react to the possibility of Rukia being with another man. He had no claim on her, just as she had no claim on him. They were friends. Their friendship might be odd, and unlike any he had ever had before in his life, but it was still a friendship. That was all Rukia seemed to want.

"Rukia, if you're busy..."

He let the sentence trail into nowhere, unwilling to let her off the hook completely unless he was forced to do so. He wanted her at the airport-no, needed her there. He had to get home tonight and he was almost certain he couldn't drive. The pills, pain and exhaustion were hitting him too hard.

"No, Ichigo, I'm not busy. I can meet you. Hang on a second while I grab a pen."

She was back in an instant.

"Okay. Give me the flight number."

"Flight number," Ichigo repeated a little helplessly.

"Yeah, just a second."

Of course there was a flight number. What the hell was the matter with him? His brain had apparently shut down. He groped for the ticket envelope in his pocket. He stared at the three digit number for a few seconds before it made sense. Then, very carefully, he read it aloud to her. With relief, he now realized that the surprise he had at first heard in her voice wasn't a prelude to refusing to meet him. Rukia was really surprised at being asked to meet him. Her reaction was perfectly understandable, he thought. At no time during the past three months had he asked her to meet him at the airport. He had always rented a car and driven back to SeiReiTei from Karakura. His homecoming routine was just that: routine. He rarely violated his own rituals. When a man reached the point where he didn't pay much attention to his past or future, he found himself dependent on his own little rules.

"All right, Ichigo, I've got it. I'll be there."

"Thanks, Rukia. I'll see you in a while."

There was a small pause before her throaty, melodic voice asked hesitantly, "ichigo? Is anything wrong?"

Ichigo looked down at the cane he was gripping in his left hand. He didn't feel like attempting casual explanations over the phone. He would work them up on the flight to Karakura. He was good at doing that sort of thing. Every man was blessed with one or two talents, and inventing convincing explanations was his.

"No, nothing's wrong. I just thought it might be tough to get a rental car at this hour of the night. Drive carefully, Rukia."

After they had said good-bye, Ichigo hung up the phone. Then, gathering his strength with an effort of sheer willpower, he pushed himself away from the phone and, using his cane to brace himself, made his way back to the flight lounge. Halfway there, he saw the flower cart. Something clicked in his fogged brain.

He had formed the small habit of presenting her with flowers when he returned from his trips. He did it partly as a thank you for the questions she never asked and partly as an apology for the answers he never offered. Another ritual. Ichigo made his way over to the cart and bought a handful of yellow roses, so perfect they looked almost plastic. They weren't really Rukia's kind of flower; there was nothing plastic about her. But he didn't have much choice. He cradled them carefully as he finished the trek to the waiting lounge. He almost went to sleep waiting for the boarding call. When it came, he roused himself enough to follow the other passengers on board. A few minutes later, seatbelt fastened and with the yellow roses stowed alongside his thigh, he did go to sleep.

But not before he had a last, anticipatory image of Rukia Kuchiki waiting for him in Karakura. She would be easy to spot in the crowd, if there was one at this hour of the night, Ichigo thought. She wasn't particularly tall and she wasn't particularly lovely. Taken separately, there was nothing unusually inviting about her intelligent, indigo eyes, shoulder-length, midnight black hair and soft mouth. Ichigo knew she was the sort of woman other women said could be attractive if she just bothered to wear a little makeup. Rukia seldom bothered. Her body was slender, small on top and invitingly lush below the waist, but certainly not possessed of thoroughbred elegance or pin-up voluptuousness. Yet somehow, to Ichigo, her beauty was so vivid, she reminded him of one of the covers of the science fiction books she wrote-all bright hues, a promise of excitement and a barely controlled nervous energy. The fantasy of tapping into that feminine energy in bed had been plaguing Ichigo with increasing frequency. Tonight the fantasy was stronger than ever, in spite of the effect of the pain pills, or perhaps because of it. Ever since he had met Rukia Kuchiki, Ichigo had found himself letting her structure the odd relationship that had begun developing between them. What Rukia had chosen to build was a delicate web of companionship, a loose friendship from which the sexual element was plainly missing. On the handful of occasions they had spent together during the past three months, Rukia had seemed satisfied with the situation. Ichigo was wondering how much longer he could tolerate it. But the last thing he had wanted to do was push her. But he had another reason for allowing the relationship to continue as it was, he reminded himself. The last thing he needed was a clinging woman who would begin to question his frequent, extended absences, his lack of plans for the future and his reasons for having reached his mid-thirties without having married.

Once a man started sleeping with a woman on a regular basis, the woman usually felt she had a right to ask questions about things like that. Ichigo told himself he didn't need questions or a woman who asked about his life. Rukia would be easy to handle as long as she didn't probe. Unfortunately, he was beginning to crave her in a way that could no longer tolerate simple friendship. Sooner or later the situation was going to explode. Ichigo wasn't at all sure what the results would be when it did. His last conscious thought before he let himself be taken by sleep was a vague curiosity about Rukia's reaction when she saw him limp off the plane. When he had left almost a month before, he had had no cane and no injuries to explain. Even a woman who normally never asked awkward questions was bound to wonder what had happened. He ought to get to work on the cover story he planned to tell her. The perfect yellow roses took the full shock of Ichigo's not inconsiderable weight when he finally let himself sag against the left side of the seat. The flowers went down without a struggle, their plastic perfection crumpling into a squashed yellow mess.

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

For a few minutes after she hung up the phone, Rukia sat staring out her window at the night darkened sea. Ichigo's call had taken her by surprise. When the phone had rung, she had assumed her father was calling to remind her yet again that he and her mother were expecting her for her semiannual visit to the island. She had put it off long enough. It had been nearly eight months since she had visited them on Aoimizu.

In years past she had eagerly looked forward to going out to the island every six months. Belatedly she realized it was much too late for a call from the island. But she had been taken completely off guard when she heard Ichigo's voice. Ichigo, who never called while he was away. The first she usually knew of his return from a trip was when he showed up on her doorstep carrying flowers. A heavy fog crouched over Seireitei tonight; otherwise she might have been able to see the lights of Karakura in the distance. It was a good half hour's drive to the airport, but with the fog she had better allow more time. Not once during the past three months had Ichigo ever asked her to meet him at the airport when he returned from one of his consulting trips. But then, Ichigo never imposed, never made demands. He was content to take whatever she offered. The arrangement suited Rukia perfectly. But tonight he had broken his own, unspoken rules. He had asked a favor. Rukia shook off the odd sense of anxiety that had gripped her instant she had heard his voice. She got to her feet and headed toward the bedroom to dress.

Following the advice in one of the many books on insomnia that she had bought during the past few months, she had been going through an elaborate routine in preparation for bed. With the usual optimism of such self-help approaches, the author of the book had suggested that the body and mind must relearn the anticipation of sleep. The theory was that a concentration on the repetitive, nightly ritual of undressing, tooth brushing, face washing, and the rest was one approach to reacquainting oneself with an expectation of sleep. It sounded as plausible as anything Rukia had tried lately, and heaven knew she had tried a variety of techniques.

She had just put on a high-necked, long-sleeved flannel nightgown when the phone had rung a few minutes ago. So much for this evening's little ritual of anticipation. No loss, she told herself in resignation as she quickly put on a pair of black jeans, a bright yellow shirt and a knitted orange vest. The odds were against her having gotten much sleep tonight, anyway. She rarely got a good night's sleep lately, no matter how many books she read on the subject, no book could cure her underlying problem. No book could wipe out the memories of what had happened eight months ago on Aoimizu shortly before her twenty-seventh birthday.

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

She had been right about the drive to the airport, Rukia realized some time later as she eased her compact car out of the drive and onto the narrow, two-lane highway. The fog was not impenetrable, but navigating it definitely required concentration and care. Rukia gave most of her attention to her driving, but a part of her mind couldn't stop wondering about the reason she was on the road at this hour of the night in the first place. She wondered if Ichigo would offer any explanation for his unusual behavior. She doubted it. And even if she had been inclined to ask, Ichigo was not the sort of man a woman nagged. Rukia was proud of the way she never asked questions, offered suggestions or otherwise tried to impose her will on him. And Ichigo seemed to appreciate her circumspection. She sensed deep down that Ichigo Kurosaki had his own secrets, just as she had hers, but she didn't want to examine that conclusion too closely. A part of her suspected that one of the reasons she never asked any questions was because she didn't want to hear the answers.

Rukia let his full name ripple through her mind. It was a good name for him. The first time she'd met him Rukia decided immediately that Ichigo could have been the reincarnation of an old-school samurai. A man with big, strong hands and a face carved from unyielding stone. One of those men who could look you in the eye and make you believe in hell. he had that delinquent air about him that warned you not to mess with him because he knew what he was doing. The blunt, hard lines of his face were well suited to the equally blunt, hard lines of his body. He was somewhere in his mid or early thirties, but his amber eyes seemed to have seen at least an extra generation's worth of the world. On some level, Rukia knew, Ichigo's cool, watchful gaze had been what initially attracted her to him. But the easygoing quality of their relationship was what held her. She had discovered Ichigo was good at relaxed friendships. And she needed someone who was content not to make demands. Still, she found the thought of any kind of relationship with Ichigo Kurosaki odd. Rukia knew that under normal circumstances she would never have gotten involved with him. He was not really the gentle, honest, and straightforward kind of man she had once sought. He wasn't the kind of male a woman knew instinctively could be domesticated, the kind who would make a good husband and father. Rukia knew that even though he was good at projecting whatever facade seemed suitable to the occasion, there was an underlying darkness in him that would have threatened, even repelled her eight months before.

But she was no longer living under "normal circumstances."

The simple truth was that Rukia was not the same person she had been eight months before. For some strange reason the change in her left her open to viewing Ichigo Kurosaki in a different manner than she once would have done. On some level, the hardness and darkness in him actually appealed to her now. Perhaps, she thought, she subconsciously longed to have some of that dangerous internal strength for herself. She was waiting at the airport gate when Ichigo finally came through the door. He was one of the last passengers off the plane and Rukia had begun to wonder if she had met the wrong flight. When she saw the cane and the stark, controlled expression on Ichigo's face she had the fleeting sensation of having definitely met the wrong plane. It was as if she were seeing him clearly for the first time. He stopped when he saw her. He had a small leather flight bag and a bundle of sadly crushed yellow roses in his right hand. The passengers leaving the plane behind him separated and flowed around him in twin streams as if he were a boulder that had fallen into their path. Rukia saw the grim challenge in his eyes and swallowed her shock. She hurried forward, reaching automatically for the leather bag. Impulsively, driven by a need to offer welcome and comfort, she stood briefly on tiptoe to brush her lips lightly across his. She had never before offered such a personal greeting and she was startled by the feel of his mouth. It was hard and inflexible under hers. Quickly she stepped back. Summoning a smile, Rukia sought for the light, cheerful touch that had characterized their relationship for the past three months.

"You do know how to make an entrance, I'll say that for you. Want me to get a wheelchair?"

He glared at her.

"No, I do not want a wheelchair. I'm embarrassed enough as it is. The thought of you pushing me in a wheelchair is a little more than I can take at the moment. I know I look like hell."

Rukia arched her eyebrows faintly, studying him. He'd never snapped at her before; not once during the half dozen or so times they'd spent together. His tone of voice tonight was undoubtedly caused by his present physical condition.

"That's one way of putting it."

Ichigo's mouth twisted wryly.

"Sorry for the short temper. It's been a long day."

Ichigo started forward as Rukia walked beside him.

"I can see that."

Rukia smiled easily.

"Where did you come from? A war zone?"

"I had an accident."

"Somehow I managed to figure that out all on my own. Ichigo, no offense, but you look terrible. Should I take you to an emergency room?"

She found the flight bag surprisingly heavy and wondered how he'd managed it in his condition. Quickly she scanned his face, trying to assess the damage as she walked beside him to the car.

"The last thing I need is an emergency room. I've had all the doctors I can stand for a while."

"What on earth happened? Was it an industrial accident? Did something happen at the job site?" Rukia asked seriously.

"Nothing that dramatic. It was a car accident."

Ichigo frowned down at the crumpled flowers under his arm.

"Here, these are for you."

"They look like they went through the same accident."

Rukia smiled with determined brightness as she took the crushed flowers.

She was touched that he had remembered. It made her realize she'd grown accustomed to the little homecoming ritual. Maybe there were more expectations between them than she was willing to admit.

"I slept on them in the plane."

"Where did the accident take place? In Saudi Arabia?" Rukia asked as she halted beside her compact and fumbled for the keys.

"What? Oh. Yeah. Saudi Arabia."

Ichigo slid into the passenger seat with a muttered groan. He shut his eyes briefly and then opened them.

"They drive like crazy people over there."

"No kidding? Well, now you're in my hands," Rukia remarked as she slipped in beside him and started the engine.

"The mind boggles."

"You should have thought of that before you called me to come pick you up."

She shifted into reverse and backed out of the slot. Ichigo turned his head to look at her. In the shadows of the car his face was an intent mask.

"Thanks for coming out tonight, Rukia," he said quietly. "I don't know what I would have done without you. I'm in no shape to drive."

"I've noticed."

She kept her tone dry so the worry wouldn't show through. Ichigo wouldn't want her worrying, and she was a little afraid of what her worrying about him might mean.

"Any permanent damage?"

"I'm told I'm still structurally sound although it doesn't feel like it at the moment."

"Who told you that? The doctors at your company's engineering site?"

"Yeah. But what do they know?"

"Good question. Did you sue?"

"Who? The driver? Not a chance. Things work differently over there. It took three company lawyers and a hefty bribe just to keep the guy who hit me from suing me," Ichigo said laconically.

"The perils of being a globe-trotting engineer. Those of us who only sit and wait lead far less adventurous lives."

"So I'm told. How's the book going?"

Ichigo leaned his head back and closed his eyes. She had learned to expect such polite inquiries from him.

"It's going together all right. I've finally got a handle on it."

"Settled on a title? You were calling it Untitled Opus Number Four when I left."

"Somehow I decided after you left that that sounded a bit ostentatious. The new title came to me in a blinding flash last week while I was scrubbing the shower," Rukia admitted lightly. "Private demons. What do you think?"

Ichigo considered the matter with mocking solemnity. "I like it. It's got charm, wit, pathos and the essence of a double entendre. What more could an editor ask?"

"A book that lives up to the title?"

"Some people have a lot of nerve, don't they? They'd complain if they got hung with a new rope. God, I'm tired

."

He fished in the pocket of his cotton slacks for a small bottle.

"What's that?"

Rukia shot him a swift glance as he swallowed a tiny tablet without opening his eyes.

"Painkiller. Good stuff. Worth fifty bucks on the street, the doctors told me. Maybe if I have any left I can sell them and make enough to take you out to dinner as thanks for picking me up tonight. Might as well salvage something from this trip."

He shoved the bottle back into his pocket.

"I take it you don not consider this trip a resounding success?"

"It was an unmitigated disaster," he told her flatly. Startled by the admission, Rukia bit back a response. It wasn't like Ichigo to be so open about his business problems.

"Well, I'll have you safely on your front doorstep in less than half an hour," she assured him.

"You're sure you don't want to go to the emergency room?"

There was no answer to her remark. Rukia took her eyes off the narrow, winding road long enough to glance at her passenger's face. Ichigo was asleep. She didn't think he would appreciate waking up in an emergency room. Half an hour later Rukia turned down the main street of Seireitei. The sprawling community was sound asleep. There was one street light at the intersection by the post office, but other than that all was in darkness. Even the inn had turned off its vacancy sign. Ichigo's small, weather-beaten house was located on a bluff overlooking the sea. Rukia started to slow as she approached the turnoff, then glanced again at her sleeping passenger. Ichigo was in no condition to look after himself tonight. The man was dead tired and doped to the gills with little white pills. Rukia made her decision and put her foot back down on the accelerator. A few minutes later she parked the car in the drive of her own cabin. She turned in the seat, trying to estimate the task ahead of her. Ichigo Kurosaki was all hard muscle and solid bone; there was nothing light or airy about him. There was no way she could get him inside unless he walked on his own two feet.

"Ichigo?"

Gently she touched his arm. He didn't move, but quite suddenly his amber eyes were open and fixed on her face.

His abrupt awakening gave Rukia a jolt, and her hand fell away from his arm.

"Are we there?"

The intensity faded from his gaze.

"Yes. And there's no way I'm dragging your butt inside. Unless you can levitate, i'm afraid you're going to have to walk."

"Right now levitating sounds easier."

With a sigh he stirred and opened the car door. Rukia got out on her side and hurried around to help him.

"Here, let me get your cane. Don't worry about the flight bag. I'll bring it."

Ichigo leaned one elbow against the roof of the car and stared at the house. "This is your place."

"I see your powers of observation haven't been completely dulled by little white pills. Come on, it's cold out here. Let's get inside."

He looked down at her as she stood illuminated in the faint yellow porch light. His amber gaze was unreadable.

"I don't want to be any more of a pain in the ass than I've already been tonight."

"Forget it. I'd rather have you here where I can keep an eye on you than send you home where you might get into trouble."

"What kind of trouble am I likely to get into at home?"

"In your present condition, you could have any one of a variety of common household accidents," she informed him as she took his arm and pried him away from the support of the car.

"For example?"

He sounded only mildly interested as he allowed her to lead hi m toward the front door.

"For example, you could lose your balance in the bathroom and drown ignominiously in the toilet."

"It would be a hell of a way to go, wouldn't it?"

"It would definitely make for an embarrassing obituary. Watch the step, Ichigo."

"You've only got one bed."

His protest was remarkably feeble.

"I'll use the couch."

"I can take the couch."

"You," Rukia announced with gentle tyranny, "will take what you're given. You haven't got the strength to argue about it tonight."

"You may be right."

She got him through the small living room with its old wooden floors, comfortably shabby furniture, braided rugs and collection of savage science fiction and horror art posters. Proceeding into the bedroom, Rukia flipped on the light to reveal more of the same rustic furniture. There was a poster featuring a well-endowed, futuristic Amazon warrior confronting a dragon on the wall over the bed. Ichigo came to a halt beside the bed, wavering a little. He focused first on the poster and then on the flannel nightgown Rukia had left lying across the quilt.

"I sleep in my shorts," he announced.

"How terribly macho of you. Can you get yourself undressed?"

He swung his gaze to her concerned face, his heavy brows coming together in a nearly solid line.

"I won't know until I try. If you want to play nurse, go ahead. I'm not proud."

She felt the heat rush into her cheeks and was startled by the degree of her own embarrassment. She moved nervously, collecting the flannel nightgown from the bed.

"Forget I asked. I'll give you some privacy so you can get ready for bed."

"Ah, Rukia, I'm sorry. I guess I snapped at you again, didn't I?"

"Not exactly. I think you were teasing me." She gave him a sharp look. "You better have been teasing me."

Her gaze softened. "But you do seem a little on the edgy side tonight."

"That's funny," he said consideringly as he fumbled with the buttons on his khaki shirt. "I always think of you as being the edgy one. Queen of high-strung at times. Nervy. As if you're always walking along some ledge."

Rukia paused in the doorway. "I had no idea you'd been busy analyzing me."

"I spend a lot of time thinking about you. Especially on airplanes. Always a lot of time to think on an airplane."

She saw his hands tremble slightly as he reached the last button of his shirt. The man was definitely half out of it, she thought. In a few more minutes he would be asleep on his feet. Even his dark, gravelly voice was taking on a slurred, groggy quality. She had a hunch Ichigo didn't know what he was saying.

"Be careful, strawberry. Maybe you'd better sit down."

He ignored her advice, his mind obviously pursuing its own line of thought. "I thought a lot about you on the flight back today, Rukia. I got to wondering."

"Wondering what, Ichigo?"

She had picked up her nightgown, and now realized she was crushing the fabric in her hands.

"Whether you'd lose some of that high-strung edginess in bed. Be interesting to find out, wouldn't it?"

Rukia's eyes flew to his face, but he wasn't really looking at her. She had the impression his attention was focused on some image in his head.

"You're in no condition to find out anything tonight, fool," she informed him briskly. "Call me if you need any help."

She started to turn away, but his voice stopped her.

"I need help."

Rukia turned back and saw him watching her with a steady intensity. His khaki shirt hung open, revealing the sleek contours of his chest and a wealth of orange hair that tapered down to his flat, taut stomach. His hands seemed all tangled up with the buckle of his belt. When he wavered slightly, she rushed forward.

"Here, let me do that," Rukia said quickly. "You really are in bad shape, aren't you?"

"I don't know. I've got so many pills in me I can't feel a thing."

He sank down onto the edge of the bed, eyeing her with interest as she knelt in front of him and pulled off his low, worn boots.

"In the Middle East they're very big on subservient women."

"The Middle East has several enormous problems. The attitude toward women is only one of them," Rukia informed him as she let the second boot drop to the floor. She glanced up and saw the warmth in his amber eyes. She didn't need feminine intuition to know that what se saw in his gaze had absolutely nothing to do with sexual desire, or at least not much to do with it. She put her hand on his forehead. "Did those doctors give you anything for a fever?"

He blinked owlishly.

"There's another bottle of something in my flight bag."

"I'll get it."

She was on her feet before he could argue. Inside the leather bag she found a small bundle of dirty laundry, one clean shirt, shaving gear and a bottle of tablets. By the time she got back to the bedroom, Ichigo had managed to slide out of his trousers and make his way into the bathroom. When he emerged a few minutes later he was wearing a pair of snug briefs that only emphasized the fact that he was built solidly everywhere.

He confronted her, bracing himself with one large hand wrapped around the doorframe. The strong, masculine contours of his body were broken not only by the underwear, but by a wide swath of white bandage around his left thigh. There was an ugly, fading bruise over his rib cage and what looked like a line of stitches slanting diagonally across his right arm above the elbow. Rukia stared in shock.

"My God, Ichigo!"

"Structurally sound," he reminded her dryly. He followed her glance to the bandage on his inner thigh. "Just barely. Let me have those tablets."

Wordlessly she handed him the bottle and watched him disappear into the bathroom to swallow more pills. When he emerged a second time he headed directly for the bed. Sinking down into it with a deep groan of relief, he tugged the covers up over his bare chest and turned his face into the pillow. "Smells just like you," he mumbled.

"Well, it is my pillow," Rukia joked weakly.

"Soft and warm," he continued.

"That's not a scent."

"Do you realize this will be the first time I've ever spent a night in your bed?"

He was asleep before Rukia could think of a response. She quietly switched off the light and wandered out into the kitchen. She stood in the center of the old linoleum floor and wondered whether it was worth trying the tryptophane tablet she'd bought the day before at the health food store in town. As wound up and wide awake as she was now the odds were against her getting any sleep tonight, regardless of what approach she tried. Still, anything was worth a try. Uncapping the bottle, she grimaced as she saw how large the tablets were. Regular horse pills. She would be lucky to get them down. She ran water into a glass and tossed down two of the pills. Her heart wasn't in the project. Still, trying something was better than trying nothing at all.

There was a certain psychological value in taking assertive steps, and certainly the tryptophane tablets couldn't hurt her. Moving back out into the living room, Rukia surveyed the old lumpy couch with a resigned eye, then went to a cupboard and pulled out a sheet and some blankets. She felt odd getting ready for bed knowing Ichigo was in the house. But thinking of him in her bed was odder still. The fact that she and Ichigo had not become lovers was her own fault, of course. While she had made it clear from the beginning that she wanted only friendship, she had never found a way to explain that friendship was what she needed and about all she could handle at the moment. Dealing with her private anxieties took most of her energy. Ichigo hadn't pushed. He never pushed. He took what was offered in the way of companionship and an occasional meal and then went home. Once or twice he had invited her out to dinner. He seemed content with their arrangement, but there had been times when she knew he felt quite differently. She was always very careful around him on such occasions. This was the third trip he had made during the three months she had known him. He'd been gone a month this time, the longest stretch yet. The first trip had lasted seventeen days and the second had lasted three weeks. When it was all added up, Rukia decided ruefully, she really hadn't had that much time with Ichigo Kurosaki. They were really still just getting to know each other, so in a way it made sense that her feelings were so confused. He came and went with only the most casual of explanations. The first time he had told her he was leaving on a consulting assignment she had wished him a good trip and offered to drive him to the airport. He had declined the offer politely, and Rukia had never again volunteered.

She had understood that he didn't want even a tiny, niggling sense of obligation between them.

When he had reappeared on her doorstep seventeen days later with an old-fashioned bunch of flowers in his hand, she had seen the pent-up sexual need simmering in his eyes. It was as if whatever he had done on his trip had built up pressure and tension inside him that were seeking a channel for escape. Apparently, he had decided that channel was sex. Rukia had been happy to see him, but her womanly instincts had reacted skittishly to the barely restrained sensual demand she sensed in him. She had invited him to stay for dinner, wary of the outcome. She sensed he was a volcano waiting to explode. The sensible side of her nature warned her it would be better to send him home. She couldn't handle a lover, least of all a man like Ichigo Kurosaki. But she hadn't sent him home. Instead, she had put a drink in his hand and a nourishing meal in his stomach and then held her breath. To her relief he hadn't pounced. The conversation had been light and easy, as it always was. He had told her the usual traveler's tales of airport delays and lost luggage and asked her polite questions about her writing. But the trapped heat had continued to blaze in his eyes. Afterwards Rukia had put some of her favorite early rock artists on the sound system and dug out a checkerboard. She nearly dropped the disks and she felt clumsy setting up the pieces of the game. She knew her awkwardness was a result of the tension in the room. Ichigo had glanced at her face and at the checkerboard. He seemed to sense her near panic and fear. Then he had walked into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of brandy. When he returned to the living room, Rukia saw that his sexual tension was under control. She had been relieved, and strangely touched that he cared enough not to press her.

But what came as the greatest surprise was her realization that her own sensual awareness was so high. Rukia knew that the unusual rush of excitement was a direct response to Ichigo's masculine need and it startled her. It was not like her to react so strongly to a man. But the situation had been defused by checkers, then Pictionary and a rousing game of Uno during which they playfully bickered nonstop. Perhaps Ichigo had controlled himself because of something he had seen in her face. Whatever the reason, the volcano burning in him did not erupt that night. The evening settled back into a sedate pattern and Ichigo went home around ten after thanking her politely for dinner. Rukia had stood in the doorway watching him drive off in his battered pickup. As the truck had vanished around a curve she'd closed the door, realizing his consideration of her feelings had made them much closer. She felt herself very near to the brink of a precipice she wasn't sure she wanted to explore. What sane woman willingly descended into the heart of a volcano or attempted to ride the tiger? The second time he had returned from an assignment Rukia had seen evidence of the same sensual fire in him, but Ichigo had it firmly under wraps. After that first dangerous evening, he had always seemed in control of himself and placidly content with the friendly, undemanding companionship Rukia offered. But tonight, Rukia knew, she and Ichigo had come to the edge of another potentially dangerous barrier. This was the first time Ichigo Kurosaki had ever openly asked her for anything more than the most casual of favors. He had come home hurt, bruised and feverish, and had needed care and comfort.

He had tried to limit his demands to a simple request to be met at the airport, but they both knew he'd needed more help than that and she had provided it. Rukia crawled into her makeshift bed on the couch with an uneasy premonition that something fundamental had begun to alter her relationship with Ichigo. And she wasn't certain she was prepared to deal with the subtly shifting situation. The thought of waking up trapped in a web she never intended to weave was enough to keep Rukia awake for the next two hours. The truth of the matter was, she was already enmeshed in the sticky strands of another web, one that was ruining her peace of mind. She wasn't at all sure she could handle Ichigo Kurosaki and all his bright-haired glory in addition to the trauma left over from eight months before.

AN

So there you have it, my first chapter of Trouble in Paradise. Just to clear up any confusion you might have about Ichigo's travels: From a Tokyo airport he flew to Karakura airport where Rukia picked him up and drove him to Seireitei where they both live. I feel I might not have made that very clear since locations kept shifting in my mind and I wrote Japan once when I didn't mean to. Also, my computer is messing with me so I don't think I'll be able to find my mistake. Feel free to leave your thoughts or guesses about the storyline or questions in a review. Until next time!


	2. Chapter 2

AN  
Hi there! Thanks for the followers and reviews so far. On with the story.

Disclaimer-Seriously, must we go through this for every chapter. I. Own. Nothing. I will say this no more!

Trouble in Paradise

Chapter 2

Ichigo awoke the next morning to the smell of hot coffee and what felt like the worst hangover of his life. He immediately decided to cut back on the little white pills. He opened his eyes and found himself looking at the ceiling of Rukia's bedroom. It was, unfortunately, the first time he'd seen it from this position. He took a deep breath and caught the faint, lingering trace of Rukia that still clung to the sheets and pillowcase.

In spite of the groggy sensation left by the drugs, his body tightened with the beginnings of a familiar hardness. He should be getting accustomed to this tight, disturbing feeling. It happened a lot around Rukia. But even as he began to contemplate the possibility of luring Rukia into the bedroom, his sore ribs made their presence known in no uncertain terms. His leg began to throb, too. 

"Hell." 

"Language! Is that a general comment on your present physical condition or do you always wake up cursing the world?" 

Rukia appeared in the doorway, a mug of coffee in her hand. Her hair was up in its usual loose knot (with the exception of that stubborn bang that always hung between her eyes (and she was wearing an emerald green shirt and black and grey plaid trousers that were cut full at the hips and narrowed down to tiny cuffs. There was a red and brass belt threaded through the waistband loops. She looked, Ichigo decided, very cheerful, very alive and very much like home. 

It came as a dull surprise to realize he'd never really thought of Seireitei as home until Rukia had arrived three months before. For the past couple of years, since he'd moved here from Karakura, the city had simply been the place he came back to when an assignment was over. Something in him needed the remote, isolated quality it offered. Lately he'd grown accustomed to the idea of seeing Rukia when he returned. But each time he'd come back to find Rukia waiting, the sexual tension in him grew heavier and more demanding. Occasionally it irritated him that she seemed totally oblivious of that fact. 

"My leg hurts. And my ribs." 

"Don't look at me as though it's my fault. Want some more of your pills?" 

He glared at her.

"No, I do not want any more pills. I feel as if I'm just waking up from a week-long binge because of those damn pills." 

"Have you ever actually been on a week-long binge?" She asked curiously. 

There had been that time after he'd learned Chad had been killed, Ichigo thought. But the numbness he'd achieved through the bottle hadn't lasted very long, unfortunately. Nowhere near a week. Only vengeance had offered a form of relief and another kind of numbness. 

"No, as a matter of fact, I haven't." 

"I'm not surprised." 

She nodded as if what he'd said confirmed something she had already decided. 

"I can't see you losing control like that." 

"Are you just going to tease me with that coffee or are you going to do the decent thing and give it to me?" 

"My, you are quite surly in the mornings, aren't you? Say please." 

The mocking gleam in her eyes annoyed him. He gritted his teeth and scowled. "Please may I have that mug of coffee before I scream?" 

He held out his hand expectantly. 

"Lucky for you I'm in a charitable mood today." 

She thrust the mug into his large hand and watched as he took a long, satisfying swallow. Her flippant words didn't quite hide the shadowed concern in her eyes. Ichigo decided he liked the sympathy he saw in her near-violet gaze. He wouldn't mind wallowing in it for a while. 

"Thank you," Ichigo murmured after the first taste of the reviving coffee.

"I may survive after all." 

He kept himself propped on one elbow; the mug cradled in his fist, and took another swallow. 

"How do you feel?" Rukia asked gently. 

"As I said earlier, like hell." 

"Succinct and to the point. Want some breakfast?" 

He eyed her with faint amusement. 

"You are feeling charitable today, aren't you? I get to spend the night in your bed and now you're going to feed me breakfast. This is indeed the best of all possible worlds." 

Her mouth tilted at the corners. "You're an easily satisfied man." 

"A simple soul with simple tastes," he agreed, and made a gallant effort to sit up on the edge of the bed. "Ah. Success." 

He ignored the dull ache in his thigh. Across the room his gaze fell on an airy structure made of thin brass wire. Technically, it was a birdcage designed to look like a Baroque Italian villa. But Rukia had filled the delicate, exotic birdhouse with a healthy looking plant instead of parakeets. Green leaves poked through the colonnade, thrust their way out of the dome and peeked through the elegantly vaulted windows and doorways. 

Rukia saw the direction of his gaze. "What do you think? I decided it made a great planter." 

Ichigo felt an instant flare of anger. "You bought it?" 

"Of course I bought it! I love it!" 

"I told you not to buy it. I said I'd give it to you if you wanted it." 

"And I explained I couldn't let you give me something that expensive," Rukia reminded him patiently. "It's a work of art." 

"It's a hobby," he told her flatly. 

"You must have spent hours on it." 

"That's what hobbies are for. Dammit, Rukia, I can't believe you paid three hundred bucks for that thing!" 

"The gallery owner gave me a slight discount because she knew I was a friend of the artist." 

"Oh, yeah? How much of a slight discount did Orihime give you?" Ichigo challenged. 

"Ten percent. If you ask me, you're letting those cages go too cheap.

That's what I told Orihime, too. I think you should be charging five hundred for the small cages like this one and seven-fifty or eight hundred for the large ones. Maybe more." 

Ichigo heaved himself to his feet. "When I decide to get an agent, I'll consult you. In the meantime, no more sneaking around behind my back buying my bird cages without my permission, understand?" 

Her eyes widened innocently. "Dear me! The coffee doesn't seem to be doing much for your mood, Mr. Grouchy-Pants. I didn't realize you have this surly side to your nature," she said in a saccharine, sweet voice.  
Ichigo grimaced. ""Yeah, well there are a lot of things you don't know about my nature. And knock it off with that creepy voice!" 

Ichigo made his way painfully to the bathroom. 

"It is not creepy!" Rukia protested hotly. "And for the record, you know just about as much about my own nature, pal." 

She vanished from the doorway, leaving the cool jibe hanging in the air behind her. Ichigo groaned, wishing he had kept his mouth shut. He was not handling his first morning in Rukia's home with the finesse, tact and diplomacy a woman had a right to expect. After all, he reminded himself grimly as he planted both hands on the old cracked washbasin and leaned forward to study the rough stubble on his face, he wasn't her lover. He was a politely tolerated friend she could choose to kick out at any moment. He didn't want to be kicked out. Not just yet. He wanted to maintain the fantasy of being home a little while longer.

Ichigo reached over and turned on the shower, aware that he was secretly pleased Rukia had liked the Baroque birdcage enough to buy it. What didn't please him was that at one point he had offered to give her the cage and she politely refused. He had recognized the refusal for what it was, a deliberate effort to keep their relationship free of various bonds, obligations and entanglements. As a gift it was too much in her eyes. When it came to presents she preferred a bunch of brightly colored flowers now and then.

At the time she had refused the cage he told himself he appreciated the gesture because it had reassured him he made the right decision when he had decided to get involved with Rukia Kuchiki. She wanted exactly what he wanted out of an affair: casual companionship and good sex. But he never quite forgot the odd sensation of rejection he had experienced the day she declined his gift. Nor had he ever gotten the good sex. The affair had never quite gelled. It seemed to have stalled at the friendship stage. 

The first time he saw her she had been intently studying the cage in Seireite. Ichigo had stopped in to chat with Orihime Inoue, the owner, and to deliver another cage. Orihime treated him as she treated all the rather eccentric craftspeople and artists she represented, with a kind of affectionate tolerance, which was easy seeing as how she was quite eccentric herself. Well, that wasn't completely the truth. Ichigo did notice that Orihime did treat him a bit differently, and possibly even might have a thing for him. But he knew from their first meeting that she wasn't his type and that they would never mesh well together. 

The image of himself as an eccentric craftsman worked well for him in Seireitei, a town overrun by the type. It allowed him to fit in nicely. But then, finding protective covers was another of his odd assortment of talents. He'd spotted Rukia crouched in front of the Baroque piece, examining each minute architectural detail with obvious delight. It was clear she was enchanted and her pleasure had intrigued him.

Since he designed and built the cage, Ichigo figured he had the perfect opening line. She had responded to his overture. He was pleased to find out she lived in town and was not just a passing tourist. A day spent together visiting art galleries had quickly followed. After that there had been a couple of dinners together and one or two afternoon walks on the beach. She had shown an interest in his birdcages and he found the fact that she wrote science fiction and fantasy fascinating. She didn't look the type, he had told her. 

"And just what is that supposed to mean!" She'd snapped. "Am I too 'petite and delicate' to write Sci-Fi?" 

Ichigo held up his hands in surrender. "Whoa! Relax, that's not what I meant at all. No need to bite my head off, jeez." But secretly he enjoyed her fire. He liked a woman who had passion in her veins. 

Rukia calmed down with a sheepish little laugh. "Sorry, but I hear that enough for it to become quite a nuisance. So tell me, what does the type look like?" 

"I don't know," he'd admitted. 

"Well, if it's any consolation, you don't look the type to build beautiful bird cages." 

Ichigo's brows furrowed with slight annoyance. He was tempted to return the favor and read her the riot act about how looks were deceiving, but he decided to take the high road. He didn't want to spend their time together arguing about inconsequential things like misconceptions. Anyway, at least she hadn't said anything too horrible about his bright orange hair. 

"I'm an engineer," he'd explained. "For a while, when I was younger, I also wanted to be an architect. The cages are a hobby. I don't make my living with them." 

"How do you make your living then?" 

"Engineering consulting work. My firm has several over seas projects. I travel a lot." 

The lies always came easily. He had been telling them for years. 

"Do you like it?" 

He had shrugged, a little surprised by the question. "I don't know. It's what I do." 

Rukia had nodded, as if understanding perfectly. She also seemed to understand that he had said all he intended to say about his job. Her tolerant acceptance of the limits he established intrigued him, although he had other lies ready if she ever asked more questions. She never had, and Ichigo was pleased. He shied away from the thought of telling Rukia any more lies than absolutely necessary. Lazily, feeling no need to rush the affair and determined not to jeopardize the light, undemanding aspects of the relationship, Ichigo had set out to seduce Rukia. But he had quickly discovered that moving beyond casual friendship wasn't going to be that easy.

He soon learned there was something jumpy, almost frightened about Rukia. She used the pose of friend almost like a shield to protect herself. He was working on the problem when he had gotten the first assignment he had received since meeting her. As usual, there was very little time to say good-bye. Ichigo hadn't been certain what to expect from her when he told her he was leaving the country so suddenly, but he had been reassured by her obvious lack of concern. She had even offered to drive him to the airport, but he'd refused for the same reasons she refused to take the birdcage.

He hadn't been feeling as casual two weeks later when he returned. He had begun thinking of Rukia on the plane and by the time he landed in Karakura he'd been craving her. It was not unusual to want a woman after an assignment, but it was new for him to want a particular woman as badly as he had wanted Rukia. 

Knowing the need for sexual release was riding him far too hard, he had decided to make himself wait a couple of days before getting in touch with Rukia. His resolution had lasted about twelve hours. He was on her doorstep the evening after he'd returned. He learned his lesson that night. When he got home the second time he had forced himself firmly under control before casually stopping by to say hello. Her wariness was both frustrating and inexplicable, but he couldn't bear the thought of frightening her or causing her pain.

For a while he had wondered if she was simply the kind of woman who worried excessively about her reputation. Seireitei was a small town, granted, but it was hardly straitlaced. It was a haven for struggling artists, writers and assorted craftspeople, not exactly the sort of community where people worried very much about what others thought. And Rukia was definitely too much of an independent spirit to run her life any way but her own.

After a short period of consideration, Ichigo scratched the theory that she was too conservative to engage in an affair. He had gone on to Theory Number Two, which was that she might be gay. But he scrapped that notion when he remembered the deep, feminine awareness in her eyes the first time she had seen his clawing desire. All his instincts told him she was a woman who could respond to the right man. That had led to Theory Number Three: H might not be the right man. That thought had not done much for his ego. It hadn't been easy psyching himself down to something resembling casual friendliness when he had returned from that second assignment.

The fierce need for her had begun eating at him as soon as he had boarded the plane back to Japan. He'd thought about stopping off in Dangai and looking up an old acquaintance that might be willing to drain some of his tension. 

But he had sensed that wouldn't work; another woman wasn't the answer. Purple hair and wide amber eyes would not fill the ache he was having for a petite, raven-haired amethyst-eyed beauty. He thought he'd done a pretty fair job of covering up the desire he felt that second time, but he knew she had seen the traces of sexual heat in him. Once again she treated the flames with wine and food and casual, undemanding conversation. He left the house to the strains of the cheery and ear-piercing theme song to some cartoon bunny-themed show she was obsessed with that was a complete mood killer.

Rukia's protective wall of friendship was stronger than ever. But Ichigo knew that his resistance to the idea of crashing through it was weakening rapidly. Then had come this last fiasco of an assignment. Ichigo clenched his teeth as he stepped into the shower and concentrated on his leg. He was going to have to change the bandage when he got out. Best to keep Rukia out of the room while he did it. He looked down and grimaced. Damn, that bullet had been close. A little higher and he wouldn't have had to worry about trying to seduce Rukia.

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; 

Out in the kitchen Rukia heard the shower go off and waited expectantly for the sound of the bathroom door opening. She didn't want to put the oatmeal on the stove until Ichigo was almost ready to eat. The phone rang just as she was measuring water into the pan. This time when she picked up the receiver, her intuition was accurate. Even if she hadn't guessed who would be on the line the distant static was a good clue. Private telephone service had come to AoiMizu about fifteen years before, but it hadn't yet reached the level of quality one expected in mainstream communities. 

"Hello, Father. Are you and Mother finished packing yet?" 

"Your mother has that end of things under control, as usual." 

Byakuya Kuchiki's deep, serious voice was not dimmed one bit by the telephone line. His was a voice that had dominated the boardroom and presidential suite of Kuchiki Aero, Inc. for years. It held the essence of a still vigorous man who was facing his sixties with the same steely determination that he'd used to build and hold together his successful aerospace manufacturing firm. 

"I'm not surprised." 

Rukia half smiled at the thought of her mother's exceptional organizational talents. Hisana Kuchiki had brought the task of being the perfect corporate executive's wife to the level of a fine art. If she'd been born a little later, she probably would have been an executive herself, not the wife of one. 

"Let's see, you two leave for London on the fifteenth, right? That's next week. You must be swamped trying to get ready." 

It was a desperate bid to avoid the unavoidable. Rukia wasn't at all surprised when it failed. Byakuya Kuchiki was too shrewd to let her off the hook that easily. 

"Never you mind about that. Listen, Snowflake, your mother and I have come up with a great idea," Byakuya announced. His tone held an insistent edge.

"We have decided that what you need is a vacation. Come to the island this week. You can help Hisana finish the packing, do a little diving, eat a few home cooked meals and relax. On the fifteenth you can see us off on the plane. Then you can stay as long as you like at the house. Plan on a month." 

Rukia frowned. She knew this was coming. He only ever used his pet name for her to soften her up and bring her around to his way of thinking. It was oftentimes futile to resist his will, but she would try.

"Look, Father, I'm actually rather busy at the moment-" 

"You need some time off, Rukia," he interrupted firmly. "For the past few months you've been getting more and more concerned about your writing. Too concerned. It's obvious you're starting to feel the stress. You haven't come to see us for over eight months. You know how you love this place. I'm worried about you. Selling that science fiction series last year put some real pressure on you. Knowing my daughter, you've spent the last few months worrying about whether you'll be able to do the same thing again this year. I've got news for you, Snowflake: If you don't learn to pace yourself, you won't be able to keep it up." 

"But Father, it's not a question of relaxing." 

Rukia leaned back against the kitchen counter, absently massaging her temples as she tried to marshal her arguments. But even as she made the effort, she felt herself weakening. Sooner or later she would have to go back to the island. She couldn't put it off forever. 

"I'm right in the middle of a book and I wanted to get it finished before I took some time off." 

"It would mean a lot to both your mother and I if you could manage a few days with us before we leave for London, Rukia."  
Rukia groaned. "Come on, Father. Mother might resort to this approach, but I always thought you were above using the old guilt trip routine." 

Silence greeted that remark, and Rukia considered taking it back and apologizing. 

There was a small sound to Rukia's left. She glanced up and saw Ichigo leaning in the kitchen doorway, buttoning his shirt while he listened with unabashed interest. 

"I apologize for that Father. I'll think about it, okay? I'll see what I can do about my schedule." 

"Call me tomorrow and let me know what you decide," Byakuya said bluntly. "I'll tell your mother you're considering it very seriously. She'll be thrilled. I'll take care of the tickets." 

"Father, wait-" 

"Listen, don't try to tell me you don't want to come to the island because of the accident. Shiba was a fool and he paid the price. It was a tragic event, yes, but there's absolutely no reason to let it upset you forever and keep you away from your family. Accidents happen."  
Rukia froze. "I know that. It's got nothing to do with what happened to Kaien. It's just that I-" 

"Good. He was a nice enough young man and the whole thing was very unfortunate, but you shouldn't let it get to you. Kuchikis are made of stronger stuff than that than to be upset over something so trivial. And I know you weren't in love with him so it's not as if you're pining. You would never do something so weak. Come and see us, Snowflake." 

"Father-" 

It was too late. Byakuya Kuchiki had already hung up the phone. Rukia tossed her receiver back into the cradle, crossed her arms under her breasts and glared at Ichigo. 

"Hey, I'm innocent," he said, holding up a protecting hand. '"I'm just hanging around for breakfast." 

"Oh, I wouldn't say innocent. You were eavesdropping on a private conversation after all." 

"Not true. I just 'happened' to walk in while you were chatting on the phone. What was I supposed to do, turn around and go back in the bedroom?" 

Rukia smiled ruefully and turned back to the stove. "You're right, of course. Sorry. That was my father. He's accustomed to having people do, as he wants. Right now he wants me to go visit him and my mother before they leave for Europe." 

"And you don't want to go?" 

Rukia became very busy with the oatmeal. "I don't really want to go to the island." 

"The island?" 

"My father's retired. For years he's maintained a second home on a little dot of an island a few hundred miles beyond Kyushu. We used to go there for every vacation when I was a kid. Now that he's no longer going into the office every day, he and Mother spend most of the year there. Mother paints and Father's writing a book on management." 

"Why don't you want to visit them?" 

Rukia shrugged. "No good reason, I guess. It's just that I'm right in the middle of Private Demons and I was hoping to finish it soon. I hate to take time off in the middle of a book. Father says he's concerned about me. But that's nothing new. He's always concerned about me." 

"Yeah? Why?" 

Ichigo eased himself down onto a stool and hooked the cane over the edge of the counter. He studied Rukia with deep interest as she added a handful of raisins to the cereal. 

"Probably because I'm the youngest. And probably because I'm classified as the black sheep of the family. You have to understand that my older sister is a board certified surgeon, one of my brothers has taken over the running of my father's firm and is making Kuchiki Aero even more profitable than it has been in the past, and my other brother is a successful attorney who's about to enter politics in a big way here in Japan. I, on the other hand, am twenty-seven years old and have spent half my adult life waiting tables and taking night classes in everything from surrealist painting to an intensive, in-depth study of the hard evidence for flying saucers." 

"I get the picture," Ichigo said dryly. "You're not maintaining the family standards. But now you've actually sold a book. A three-part series, in fact, and you're writing another book. Doesn't that count?"  
Rukia snorted. "Father thinks I'm going to burn out on my first taste of success. Not that I'm likely to go too crazy on the microscopic advance I got for the Shadow series. And the advance on Private Demons wasn't much better, believe me." 

"He thinks you're working too hard?" 

"I guess." 

She finished stirring the oatmeal and ladled it into two bowls. "He should talk after the way he battled to push Kuchiki Aero to the top years ago." 

"How long since you've been back to the island?" 

"A little over eight months." 

She concentrated on taking the milk out of the refrigerator and setting it down on the counter, aware of the nervous tension that sometimes made her remarkably clumsy these days. With a little self- discipline she could control it, she knew. But when she safely set the milk down on the counter top in front of Ichigo, he only frowned at it. 

"I usually just have coffee and a doughnut in the morning." 

"Well, I usually have oatmeal and grapefruit," she declared stoutly. "Just another little item to add to our storehouse of knowledge about each other's habits and eccentricities." 

"I haven't had oatmeal since I was a kid." He examined the bowl of gray cereal distrustfully. 

"Throw a little brown sugar on it and it will go down as easily as a doughnut. Trust me. Besides, it's good for you. You need to regain your strength." 

Rukia handed him the sugar bowl, plunking down the twin halves of a grapefruit she had prepared earlier and slid onto a stool beside him. 

"So who's Kaien?" Ichigo asked casually as he dug into the grapefruit.  
Rukia blinked. The grapefruit spoon trembled slightly in her hand. "No one important. Just a man I was seeing casually the last time I went to the island. I invited him to go with me." 

"You still seeing him?" Ichigo appeared only vaguely interested. 

"No!" 

She hesitated painfully. "There was... An accident." 

"What kind of accident?" 

Rukia felt a flicker of annoyance at his persistent questioning. She didn't give him the third degree about his life so he ought to respect that and return the favor of privacy. But it served no purpose to lie to him. It was better to answer his questions and get it over with. "A diving accident. Kaien was killed diving in some caves near my family's home. He didn't like the fact that my father had put the caves off limits to all visitors as well as the family. He went down on his own one night. I was the one who found his body in the cave entrance pool the next day." 

"Jesus." 

"Yes. It was a shock, to say the least." 

She carefully spooned up a piece of her grapefruit. "My father owns the land where the underwater caves are located. He's never allowed any diving in them. He doesn't even like members of the family showing the entrance to our guests. I doubt if many of the people in AoiMizu's one town even know where it is. If they do, they've always respected my father's wish to keep tourists away from the caves. Father thinks it's better if people don't know where they are. Some foolish tourist might be tempted to dive. Cave diving is very hazardous." 

"I know. I've done a little." 

She looked up in surprise. "Have you?" 

"It's been a while. Not my idea of a fun hobby." 

"No. I don't think it would be." 

"Rukia, I can imagine what it was like for you finding the guy's body." 

Rukia managed a shrug. "It's been eight months. It all seems like a dream now." A nightmare. 

"Were you in love with the guy? Was he more than just a casual friend?" 

"Kaien Shiba was not my lover!" She replied stonily. "He was an acquaintance with whom I had something in common: Diving. That's all!" 

"All right, calm down. I didn't mean to get too personal." 

He reached for more sugar and groaned. When Rukia glanced at him in alarm he said, "I feel like I've been used for a football." 

Rukia seized the opportunity to change the topic. "Speaking of your diminished capacity." 

Ichigo winced. "I can think of better ways to describe my current condition." 

"I'm a writer. I value accuracy. What I was about to say is that I think you should stop by Dr. Unohana's office this morning and have her take a look at that leg." 

"The leg's okay. The company doctor got all the glass out and told me how to take care of it. I changed the dressing after my shower this morning. It's almost healed. A few more days and I can stop wearing a bandage." 

"I still think you should have Unohana look at it," Rukia said stubbornly.  
He turned his head to look at her. "You're a bossy little thing, you know that?" He asked almost indulgently. "I'm only just beginning to realize it."  
Rukia flushed and speared her spoon back into the grapefruit. "Well, excuse me! Your leg is your own problem." 

"I agree." 

"I may be bossy, but there's a real streak of stubborn macho arrogance in you, you know that?" 

Ichigo grinned, one of his quick, fleeting smiles that temporarily ruined the delinquent image. "I've lived alone for so long I've never really learned to handle a woman's nagging." 

"I've never believed it was too late to teach an old dog new tricks." 

"Your faith in my adaptability and intelligence humbles me. Actually, I don't think you're nagging, exactly. More like fussing." 

"I'll call Unohana's office after breakfast and make an appointment." 

"You do that and you can damn well keep the appointment yourself."  
Rukia sighed. "Ichigo, be reasonable. You were ill last night. You had a fever. Who knows what kind of infection you might have picked up in the Middle East?" 

"I overdid things yesterday, that's all," Ichigo stated in a reasonable tone. "The doctors told me it was too soon to head back to Japan, but I insisted. I got a little worn out and ran a slight fever. Nothing serious. I'm fine this morning." 

"I hadn't realized what an incredibly bull headed man you are." 

"You never see a person's worst flaws until you've lived with him or her," Ichigo explained philosophically. "Until this morning, for example, I had no idea you squeezed your toothpaste from the middle of the tube instead of from the bottom like a normal person." 

Rukia surrendered. "All right, all right, I give up! It's none of my business whether you see the doctor. And by the way, the toothpaste thing is subjective. Don't feel obliged to force yourself to eat the oatmeal. You can pick up a bag of doughnuts on the way back to your place."  
Ichigo looked startled. "Kicking me out just because I resist a little of your advice, Nurse Rukia?" 

She smiled wryly. "Let's face it. Neither one of us is used to having a live-in mate. In a few more hours we'll probably be going at each other's throats. Best to part while we're still on speaking terms and before I'm tempted to kick you in the shin for your insolence." She hesitated, and then added impulsively, "you can come over for dinner this evening if you like."

"You've got a deal." 

She saw the flickering trace of heat in his eyes and knew that this time it wasn't caused by fever. Some of the familiar, high-strung excitement she had learned to expect around Ichigo when he looked at her like that erupted in her bloodstream. The man did things to her senses she still couldn't quite understand. The problem was that they hadn't spent enough time together, Rukia realized. Ichigo's frequent, extended trips had chopped up the relationship so much that each time he returned she felt as if they were meeting for the first time again. The primitive, very feminine uncertainty and wariness always returned in full force each time she saw him after one of his business journeys. But so did the compelling, indescribable attraction. Telling herself that this wasn't really the kind of man to whom she should feel physically attracted didn't help.

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; 

Rukia drove Ichigo back to his small, weathered house after breakfast. She watched a bit anxiously as he fumbled with the keys, flight bag and cane. Leaning against the car and having every intention of keeping her mouth shut, she heard herself ask, "Do you think you should spend tonight alone?" 

He glanced at her quickly and then focused on the front door. "I wasn't going to spend it alone. I'm having dinner at your place, remember?" 

He hauled himself up the steps and shoved the key into the lock. 

"I meant after dinner," Rukia said stolidly. "I'm. Worried your fever might return." 

"I can't throw you out of your bed two nights in a row, Rukia." 

He pushed open the door and limped into the plainly furnished front room. "Come on in and I'll make you a cup of coffee. It's the least I can do after all the hospitality you've shown me." 

Rukia trailed after him, glancing around the familiar interior. Ichigo's house was the same ancient vintage as her own and the furniture had a similar seaside Salvation Army look. But Ichigo's home looked unlived in to Rukia. There were no pictures on the wall, no plants, no bunny.  
The only intriguing elements were the two birdcages that stood empty on one shelf. One was a fanciful Victorian design with looping gingerbread trim and a flight of wire steps. The other was another Baroque piece, this one, according to Ichigo, in the French style. Both cages were charming, but a little lifeless without either birds or plants to fill them. They looked as barren as his house.

By the time Rukia had finished her coffee she sensed things between herself and Ichigo had returned to their familiar, careful equilibrium. She knew that she, for one, would chew a hole in her tongue before she nagged him about seeing Dr. Unohana again. To be accused of nagging when she had always taken such pains to keep her distance annoyed her. 

On the way home Rukia stopped at the small grocery store in Seireitei, where she lucked out and found a supply of fresh clams and shrimp. Adding a sack of rice and some chorizo sausage to the rickety cart she was pushing, she mentally ticked off the items she needed to complete the paella. She still had a packet of saffron left from the last time she had prepared the dish for Ichigo. He had a weakness for it, she'd learned. On the way out to the car she eyed the health food store across the street and wondered if she could get her money back on the tryptophane. Probably not. Besides, in all honesty, she couldn't swear it hadn't worked. She had slept a little better than usual last night, even if she had found herself glancing at the clock on the wall every few hours. In contrast, the herbal tea she'd been using the week before hadn't helped a bit. 

She decided she would give the tryptophane another try before making up her mind about its effectiveness. Working out a logistics problem in chapter ten of Private Demons kept Rukia busy for the rest of the afternoon. By the time she switched off the word processor for the day she was reasonably satisfied with her solution to the heroine's dilemma. The nightmare Rukia had created in the book had substance, but there was a way to contain it. A good therapist, Rukia knew, would undoubtedly figure out right away that she was using the novel to try and work through the things she couldn't seem to work through in her head.

Nightmares could be handled in a book with such as Private Demons; real life was proving to be another matter. She had finished scrubbing clams and shelling shrimp and was opening a bottle of chardonnay when Ichigo's familiar knock sounded on the door. A small frisson of anticipation trickled through her nerves. Wiping her hands on the red kitchen towel, Rukia went to answer the door, not quite certain what to expect from Ichigo. She opened the door, took one glance at the weary way he was leaning on the cane, and knew that Ichigo Kurosaki wasn't going to be launching any assaults on her that evening. A sense of relief went through Rukia. She firmly ignored the equally disturbing sense of disappointment she felt. 

"You look like warmed over oatmeal," Rukia declared as he moved slowly over the threshold. 

"That's a fairly accurate description of how I feel. I really, really hate to admit this, but I took your advice and went to Unohana's this afternoon. Don't gloat. I can't take gloating just now." 

"I'm not gloating, I'm relieved. What did she say?" 

She closed the door and watched with concern as Ichigo lowered himself carefully into one of the deep, badly sprung armchairs. 

"She said," Ichigo announced, "that everything's healing okay, but that I'm pushing myself too fast. I need," he shot a grim look at Rukia's questioning face, "Tender loving care. Rest. Good food. Someone to keep an eye on me for a few days. Someone, in short, to fuss over me.

Did you by any chance phone Unohana and prompt her?" 

"Not me. I swore off fussing at eleven this morning. I decided I lack experience and skill in that art. But I'll admit I'm glad you had Unohana look at the leg. I've got some very nice, very expensive painkiller here."  
Rukia walked back into the kitchen to pick up the bottle of Chardonnay.

"Want some?" 

"An excellent idea. I'll use it instead of pills this evening."  
He leaned back in the chair as she poured the wine. When she returned to the living room he accepted the glass with obvious gratitude. Then he said baldly, "I figure I could take the couch tonight." 

Rukia raised her eyebrows. "You're serious? You want to spend another night here?" 

Ichigo contemplated the wine in his glass. "I think Unohana's a little nervous about the fever I had last night. She wants me to have someone within yelling distance in case it comes back tonight."  
Rukia smiled. "What am I supposed to do for you if you yell?" 

"Feed me some pills she gave me." 

Ichigo touched the side pocket of his slacks. "Just what I need. More pills. I'm sorry to impose, Rukia. If you'd rather I didn't stay another night, just say so. I'll be fine on my own." 

"I've already told you, you're welcome to stay another night," she said softly. "And you can have the bed." 

"Couch." 

"You won't fit on the couch. Don't argue with me, fool. This is my house, remember?" 

"And you're bossy by nature." 

"Think you can stand another night of my nagging?" 

He grinned. "I brought some earplugs."

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

several hours later Ichigo wished he hadn't been joking about the earplugs. The scream that woke him was the kind that taught a man the meaning of cold chills down the spine. He rose from the bed in an instinctive movement that sent a shaft of pain through his ribs. Then he was through the bedroom door and into the living room, prepared for anything from an intruder to a manifestation of one of the creative horrors that abounded in Rukia's books. What he found was Rukia huddled on her knees on the couch, her arms wrapped protectively around herself as she stared blindly at the red glow of the dying fire. Her fading scream was still echoing eerily in the room.

AN  
and there you have it for now. Our first cliffhanger! I apologize for the wait for this chapter, and I'd like to say that this story will be updated at least twice a month. I'm sorry, but that's the best I can do as of late. I hope it doesn't drop down to once a month. But I promise this will not be abandoned, so just be patient and enjoy the sizable chapters when they come out. Hope you enjoyed and review please!

Sent from my iPad


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